San Francisco dramatic review (1899)

4 THE SAN FRANCISCO DRAMATIC REVIEW October 7th, 1899 a mi. -A.S mw< isco DRAMATIC REVIEW e n • •. . . . .... 2 ess ( Sixteen Pages ) San Francisco, Oct. 7, 1899 Ten Cents a Copy— $ 3.00 per Year For Sale at all News Stands DRAMATIC REVIEW PUBLISHING COMPANY, Publishers 22^ Geary Street Wm. D. WASSON Editor CHAS. H. FARRELL . BUSINESS MANAGER C. H. LOMBARD Secretary and Treasurer The success of the Dramatic Review has set the theatrical folk to talking. They have long needed just such a paper. So many women of age and experience are going to play Hamlet this fall it might be asked, "Will the ghost walk regularly with them all?" It is gravely published that Dramatist Pinero gets the names of his characters from old tombstones. This is hardly so bad as getting plots and dialogue from dead writers. The Broadway is running a serial story called In Pursuit of Virtue. Judging from some of the naughty pictures in the magazine, it is only right to warn the author of the story that he is on the wrong track. There are at least a dozen Dewey theaters in as many cities. This taking advantage of the popular current is an old idea in amusement. When Louis Philippe was King of the French a menagerie there announced the "royal Bengal tiger." When Napoleon III was made President it became the "republican Bengal tiger." ♦ ¥ No doubt many reasons exist why a "burlesque show" in its commonest acceptation has become almost synonymous with much that is flashy and indecently suggestive. But how wrong it would l)e to advance a principal's publicity by a liberal use of imagination and fake stories not yet antiquated! At the same time it cannot be denied that for a country which stands at the head of the world's procession of newspaper writers for general inventiveness and freshness, these little tales concerning actors and actresses show an astonishing lack of color and variety. In fact, they are commencing to take on the monotonous aspect that used to distinguish the works of those professional jokers who never got beyond such topics as the mule, the goat, the plumber and the mother-in-law. Still when the modern press agent does turn his talents in an apparently unexplored direction something always creeps in to stamp the thing as a fraud. Thus in the statement that a New York actress the other day had a snake sent to her by some presumably jealous rival, every inducement was held out to the credulous to believe it by not insisting either on the serpent's excessive size or venomous character. So the inference was suggested that it was sent only to scare her. Here, however, the weakness of the assumption conies out. If scaring her had really been the object they would have sent her a mouse. * ¥ What has become of the organization that was formed to weld the stage and the pulpit for united religious effort ? The only noticeable effect it had in New York was the turning of one woman, Laura Burt, into a more pious way, and some of her stage friends are foolish enough to poke fun at her efforts. One of the writers said that Miss Burt, as a frivoller before the footlights, is very much in the eye, but when it comes to a question of piety, she is about as convincing as a carpettack in a plum-pudding." Why not let her alone? She isn't hurting anybodv. ¥ ¥ Already the first touches of a blighting frost have struck the early growth of the season's "great" productions. Stuart Robson has discovered there were flies upon The Gadfly, the new play which was to boost him into fame as a serious actor, and it will be laid upon the shelf, with the probability of the door being locked and the key thrown away. He has not been taken in it by any means as seriously by the public as he took himself, and his short flight into the higher regions of the drama is doubtless at an end. Francis Wilson also has not been encouraged in his attempt to make Cyrano de Bergerac subservient to his original designs, and the book will be reconstructed on the lines of a regular comic opera of the conventional brand. * * The rage for realism that has attacked all stage performances has apparently reached its limit when the actors reveal the subterfuges by means of which they become actors. In other words, when the audience is given a view of a dressing room, with all its incidentals of make-up and makeshift. This may be absolutely true to nature, or rather true to art, but it has a depressing effect not alone upon the spectators, but upon the work of the players themselves. Reversing the situation of seeing themselves as others see them they give the outside world a peep in o that holy of holies which, while novel to the eyes before the footlights, tears down the last barrier of illusion which the theater-going pub lic pay for and which they actually enjoy. Counterfeit emotion, with all its harrowiug subtleties that move even the blase looker-on to tears, or to at least an uneasy feeling that he hates to term sentiment, is infinitely preferable to this bald revelation of the skeleton frame beneath the seeming mould of beauty. If the dress shirt of the hero is only a false white front do not let us be made aware of the fact in these dressing room scenes, and if the heroine's lovely locks are put on with the aid of her maid and sundry hairpins, why should we be made to suffer the pangs of enlightenment by these peeps behind the scenes presented before the scenes ? What if the gorgeous gold brocade chairs are only covered with painted paper and the wood fire but a spurious gas imitation, we do not care to be treated to the secrets of their being, no matter what our common sense argues either for or against them. The theater is the playhouse, the home of make-believe, and the audience is not hankering so madly after the truth that such acts as show up barrenness and prosaic unreality in their effort to portray realism could not be omitted with profit to the players and pleasure to the spectators. ¥ * <As Things (Appear It is interesting to watch the houses * at the Tivoli on the nights that German opera and Italian opera are given. So far the natural enthusiasm of the more explosive Latins seems to indicate, not only by applause, but in point of attendance, that Italian opera has more admirers than the German works. In either case, the Tivoli never knew a more successful season. * * * The word "lady" seems to be disappearing from stage life, as it has from business life. With the death of the "saleslady," the "forelady," the "washerlady" and all the other "ladies," the "leading lady" is passing into oblivion. Assuming that all women are ladies, until their conduct has proven otherwise, it is just as well, and sounds as well, that we speak of the "leading woman" now. * » * A note in a St. Louis paper to the effect that Fitz Murphy was doing the advance work for a visiting company, calls to mind the ups and downs of this brilliant and nervy young Irishman. Murphy has been a jack-of-alltrades, actor, author, editor, orator and politician. Once upon a time, he took it into his head to become a benedict. He made love to Stella Suits and married her; the marriage lasted about six months. Drifting away from that engagement, Fitz landed in Chicago, wrote a play on the silver question, edited a paper filled with pyrotechnic silver editorials, spouted forth eloquence at political gatherings and then for a short time fell out of the public eye. Probably his most notable achievement occurred some seven years ago. Fred Cooper was running the Pavilion in Los Angelesdoing fairly well with stock productions, at 10, 20 and 30 cents One week he discovered that he had no play for the week following. At the time of the discovery, Fitz Murphy was in the Pavilion. He told Cooper he had one that needed only a little touching up — its name was Killarney. Cooper told him to get it in shape. Fitz went home, took up his pencil, mapped out a lurid melodrama in seven acts and in three days he handed over the manuscript to Cooper. And it wasn't such a bad thing, either, as melodramas go. And to do the work justice, Fitz took care of the leading role, and entertained his auditors with not only high flown Irish sentiments, but with song and dance. * * * Glancing over the bill at Koster & Bial's of last week and seeing the name of Camille Urso, brings to mind that gifted woman's last appearance in San Francisco, at the Orpheum. Endowed with a really marvellous violin skill and a charming personality, not the least dimmed by a severely plain tace, she has always l)een a great favorite with public audiences. Her visit to San Francisco last summer was the occasion of her first appearance in this city in vaudeville, and she confided to the writer that it was an occasion she had dreaded most fearfully; she did not know how she would be received by a vaudeville audience or what brusqueness she might be subjected to while on the stage. The ordeal over, her radiant face and enthusiam told me that, as I had expected, her fears had all been unfounded. Her pleasure was very great and she never tires of telling of the courteous, generous consideration shown her at Manager Morrisey's popular play house, and she has always declared that her engagement at the Orpheum was really the most delightful one she ever filled. Between Acts Francis Powers' new piece, Mother Earth, which will have a production at the Alcazar about Nov. 1st, is described as a play of Mexican life with a tendency to tragedy. It will require an elaborate mounting with special scenery for every act and a good deal of local coloring to get the effect. A fandango will be introduced and Mr. Bruegaire has composed incidental music as well as selections for the entre-acts. * * * Hotel Topsy Turvy, one of the important musical comedies of the theatrical year, will be seen at the Columbia Theater, commencing Monday, Oct. 9th, and running for two weeks. Read the Dramatic Review.